Why couldn’t you just love me?

The dappled and warm sunlight filtered through the blinds, painting stripes across Isla's face. She awoke, the remnants of a dream clinging to her like tangled webs.

A dream about a fierce woman with fiery hair seemed strangely real. A groan escaped her lips as she attempted to sit up, but the tightness in her bandaged arm confirmed it was all too real.

Disoriented, she glanced around the familiar living room. It all felt like a fever dream.

Then she saw him. Mr. Horatio, his tall figure silhouetted against the kitchen counter.

A warmth bloomed in her chest, a mix of surprise and a strange sense of comfort. She couldn't remember a time he'd ever stayed over, let alone made breakfast.

A self-conscious flush crept up her cheeks. Had he been watching her sleep all night? The thought sent a shiver down her spine, a blend of awkwardness and a thrill she couldn't quite explain.